Scroll Down …ain’t nothin’ stoppin’ you but fear and common sense.
I write all this stuff, every post. Every stinkin’ one of ‘em. Good ones, bad ones. Even posts with chicken pox.
Try putting that magic back in the box. Can’t be done.
Had Thanksgiving dinner at my new girlfriends house yesterday. We got up early to put the bird in the oven….put the soupbone in hours earlier…slumber party.
Anyhow, I couldn’t help but notice while I was sitting at my island barstool watching her robotic prep routine that apparently, the soaking wet silhouette outline of the upstairs bathtub was manifesting itself on the kitchen ceiling.
I walked over to investigate. I looked up. I squinted my Pedro eyes. A drip hit me squarely in the forehead. She had a problem. I had a problem.
Here’s my prescient advice. Think sprawling ranch style next time. Stairs are cool, no doubt about it, but, that guy in the one story ain’t running to Walmart Thankgiving morning for a new flexible 3/8 inch supply line to save a four thousand dollar ceiling, he’s just out a particle board cabinet bottom and a compromised tall can of comet.
I got up early. Making my world famous macaroni salad. Heading over to my old girlfriends place mid morning. Going to see if we really can… “just be friends” I’m optimistic. I got 36 bucks invested in a Honey Baked Ham, a real one. Like I say, I’m commited. “Nobody gets hurt on team Pedro”
I live by it.
If you play things right, life’s not so bad. It really ain’t…..Pedro
Wow, listening to some David Grisman Quintet stuff. Mandolin music. Pedro gives the boys two brown thumbs up. Did I mention that I love my new Mini Jambox bluetooth speaker. I believe I did.
A little gift from me to me. I think I’ve earned it.
I was going to sell my mandolin too. Not now, I’m gonna superglue my cracked digits back together and press on. Practice makes perfect.
Going to shoot over to Miss Robin’s nest later. We’re renovating the bathroom downstairs. As far as boyfriends go, you could do worse than me.
I know what you’re thinking.
Her girl parts will heal…eventually.
Boy, I’ve been one effed up cowboy for the last fourteen months, well, twelve of em, the last two have been pretty spectacular. Not unlike a phosphorus tide when you’re not expecting it, and you never really are.
Ever seen one? That’s what I thought.
I expect there to be a Chesapeake Bay “Jimmie” at the business end of my chicken neck string rig, but, never, ever, do I expect sea water to glow in the dark.
That’s life for you though. It gets rough, and then it gets better, and then, almost always, it gets really, really good. Ocean waves are like that. When I was young and beautiful I would body surf at Laguna Beach. And chase crabs and count waves.
That guy that waved at everybody outside the Pottery Shack, they erected a life-size painted bronze statue of him in front of the property after he died. I knew him. Not real good, but, if I rode by on my bike, he waved.
I don’t make a big deal out of it.Truth be told, he pretty much waved at anything that moved.
I told you guys about Pito Pito right? He had that same action going on down there in Belen, south of here. It means Bethlehem in Spanish. You folks should familiarize yourselves with the language some. Trust me.
At any rate, Pito Pito was more of a horn man, he’s been at it seventy plus years now. Main street in Belen, any given day, usually in close proximity of the Wells Fargo.
There’s no statue being planned.
I knew both men and I prefer Pito Pito. It means “honk honk”
Again…you know, in Spanish…………Pedro
I am now finally firmly planted in the modern age. Sad that I have aged so ingloriously.
A little soupbone for the soul. Just being me that is. It’s not so bad. I get laid regular, chicks dig me. Time for a new four by four though, the streets they were mean this morning.
Listening to some Steve Earle on the Alt Country station on Pandora through my mini Jambox. Next stop is a jet pack and 3D glasses. Woo hoo.
I mean it. Woo hoo
All right gang, follow me, watch for the changes and try to keep up. Where do I start. Been running dating ads for three months now. Crazy Bitches 67. Soup bone 0. That’s the score thus far. Seems fair. With an eleven inch fully funtional penis I am starting out with a little bit of a lead, so, I suppose it’s only fair to grade on a curve.
I got no business being with a woman now, I’m still effed up from the last one. If she wasn’t such a looker this would be so much easier. But, don’t let her classic Spanish beauty fool you, she’s a piece a work that one. No, you can’t have her digits. Women don’t get over ol’ Pedro that easily though, had to go through the three do overs first before she finally settled up on the check.
I’m a gentlemen, I knew it would take me down but what are you going to do? Plus there was full frontal nudity involved. maybe I should give you guys the number. Good luck replacing the green in that divit.
Never seen so many backout artists on that M4W page though. . .here’s a typical letter I get..” Something about what you said in that ad just really resonated with me, you really get it, wanna meet soon, I think we’d like each other, I’m not a skinny minnie but I’m very cute”. . .see, I would work with that, I don’t expect women my age to be perfect, but, I write back, keep it simple, courteous, vanilla..you know, I’m careful . . .but, never do these people write back or if they do it’s nine thousand three syllable e-mails and 37 cancelled meet ups.
I smell something cooking. Might be misogyny..hope I spelled that right. What’s the opposite of that? Homogeny. they do that to milk don’t they? Stay away from the milk.
I know, I’m milkin’ this little ditty ain’t I. Lo siento . It means “I’m sorry”
I’ve written so many failed dating ads I had to warehouse them all, I turned it into a blog and now I’m a highly requested speaker at commencement ceremonies and date rape seminars.
Special people, I’m sick of it, in the movies it’s blacks and women, in real life, when somebody is gettin’ shit done (GSD) it’s most likely white guys just like me only with smaller equipment. The facts officer. Just the facts.
Yesterday it was Veterans. I’m a Veteran, nothing to be particularly proud of in my case, I wasn’t party to killing anyone I don’t think. Thank God.
Hard to say, I was on an aircraft carrier attached to a fighter squadron. We coulda killed the Betsy Ross out of anybody we wanted to I suppose.
I sat off the coast of Lebanon for six months once. Saved up enough money to buy some really bitchin’ stereo equipment. So, don’t thank me twice. If Applebee’s wants to thank me they could start by serving warm mashed potatoes with my steak. My mistake, that’s Chili’s. Same deal. One time they made the mistake of asking me how everything was tasting so far. I asked the kid, ” Do you want the truth?” she said yes. So I told her, I said ” I understand some folks serve Fully Loaded Mashed Potatoes” (FLMP) warm…she seemed somewhat taken aback. I did it for the children. The unborn.
Back to the carrier, it was the “USS America” We ran over a sailing yacht one time, oh, and as an aside, you can be sure this is a real Pedro post as “yacht” was spelled correctly. Anyhow, after we demolished the racing yacht we did rescue the drifting crew. I felt like a hero that day I suppose. A little.
Now I just make stuff. Stuff people need. In this day and age, that’s heroic. And unfortunately, also very rare.
Here, I just make trouble, not always the case, I used to make friends too.
I miss Kit Kit. Who wouldn’t.
Oh well, I gotta go to work, you guys stick around and fold paper swans or something.
I came home early. Her girl parts need a break, I’m sure. Nice woman too. It’s about time.
What a year it’s been. Drinking like every minute of every day is “last call”…Again, thanks to the folks at Total Wine in uptown for making that all financially possible. Suffering through endless pointless dates with politically correct goverment workers, a large part of the female workforce, trust me. I don’t sleep with the devil. I’m a private sector guy. I sleep like a baby. With a little help from Captain Morgan.
I was in the navy. Got a bag full of gook ears in a footlocker somewhere to prove it too. Don’t write.
Miss Robin and I, we’re very compatible too. You know how hard it is to find another person on this planet that doesn’t feel obsessed to own six fucking dogs. It’s nearly impossible.
She is as Jewish as you can make a woman. That part came in under the radar. Never occured to me. She don’t pay retail, not this one. Don’t chip in on dates either. Not with that smile…no sir. Not a penny.
Oh well, I’m made of money, right?
Well, I’m back at my place, basking in a little “me time” and afterglow. See you guys later………Pedro.